Code Management
by Thorkone
Summary: Alexandra Richmond was supposed to be finishing med school. Then the Destroyer happened. Then the PTSD. Then there was a dude found in some ice. Lex/Steve - This is Lex's origin story. **PREQUEL TO VITAL SIGNS**
1. Chapter 1

I sat in the shrink's office, staring at the wall, willing the tears to just go the fuck away. It had been weeks since the Destroyer had hit Puente Antiguo and my life had changed forever. I could still smell the scent of charred flesh in the back of my nose and down into my throat, lingering, gagging me when I tried to sleep at night.

"And the nightmares?" Dr. Reynolds asked. I closed my eyes and could see flames, bodies, overturned cars.

"I slept for three hours last night," I offered. That was a major accomplishment.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm pretty proud of it. I didn't take any of the medications you have me on, I just fell asleep on my own. Maybe I'm getting better. I don't feel like I really am." I felt helpless and small. Dr. Reynolds said a lot of the people who had been on the ground at Puente Antiguo felt the same. At least I wasn't alone.

"Director Fury has sent an inquiry to me regarding your fitness to return to your residency. I would like to hold off on that for a while longer. Have you started to develop your daily routine, as I asked?" She pushed.

"I started running last week. I'm back to five kilometres every morning. I come home, shower, make breakfast. I usually study for boards between then and lunch. Have lunch. After lunch I either go for a walk or a swim, or watch a movie, or read. Then I make dinner, watch some TV, head out for groceries, come back and try to get some sleep. I've been working off that routine for the last five days. I think it might be why I was able to sleep for a while last night." She had been right. Creating a routine and sticking to it had made a huge difference to my well-being. After five days I was noticing a difference.

"Maybe you are ready to complete your residency then. I can see about getting you in next week to talk to the chief," she suggested. I nodded and took a deep breath. Stars started forming at the periphery of my vision. I took another deep breath, but I felt like I couldn't actually get enough air into my lungs. Like there was a rock on my chest. My hands started to shake and I looked up at Dr. Reynolds. I had tunnel vision, and couldn't focus on her. I could see her mouth moving, but all I could hear was a rushing sound like a waterfall. And then everything went black.

"Alexandra," the voice was soft and insistent. I forced my eyes open and looked up. The ceiling fan spun lazily above me. I followed the sound of the voice and saw Dr. Reynolds kneeling beside me. I tried to push myself up to sitting, but was weak.

"The hell?" I propped myself up on my elbow and felt a wave of nausea crash over me.

"So that pretty much rules out going back to your residency right now. We'll plan strategy at your session on Thursday. In the meantime, keep with working on your routine. I'm going to get you a glass of juice, and we'll get you up to your feet in a few minutes." She disappeared from view. While I waited, I pushed myself the rest of the way up to sitting and shuffled myself on my bum over to the couch. When the dizziness stopped, I pushed up onto the couch and got comfortable. It was frustrating and embarrassing that I couldn't get my shit together. I rubbed my temples and fought back the tears of frustration. Ever since the Destroyer, all I ever seemed to do was cry. I cried when I was sad, I cried when I couldn't sleep, I cried when I slept, I cried when the nightmares came, I cried when I was angry, I cried when I was happy. I cried all the time. I was losing my life to a flood of tears and it pissed me off. So of course, I was crying again.

I drank my juice and headed home. I needed to figure something out. I couldn't spend the rest of my life awash in saline.

XXX

The air was loud in my ears. I'd misplaced my earbuds and was running without my iPod. The wind blew my bangs back off my face and cooled the sweat beading of my forehead, and the wind rushed in my ears, blocking out most of the other ambient city noise. And New York City was a noisy place. Alive, vibrant, and noisy. I'd felt like a black and white photo lost in an ocean of colour since my return from New Mexico. But today was somehow different. I don't know if it was the way the muscles in my legs didn't feel tight, or the light way my feet hit the pavement, but this run, on this particular day, on my usual route, felt different. And I felt like I'd turned a corner. My lungs felt bigger, my heart felt stronger, my legs felt ready and I wanted to keep running. I pushed myself as hard as I could, until I hit that wall, and each breath burned through my chest and into my legs and made me want to stop. But I didn't. I pushed past the exhaustion and pushed on, lengthening my stride. When I finally slowed to a walk in front of my building, the endorphin high was already kicking in and I let out a peal of laughter and then stopped at the bottom stair of the stoop. I was happy. I couldn't remember the last time I felt happy. I stopped the timer on my watch and used the last of my energy to run up the stairs to my suite. I plugged my run watch into the computer to upload while I was in the shower.

I padded through the apartment in my towel to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and then flopped on my couch to check my run stats. I'd gone ten kilometres. That was twice my usual distance. I didn't feel like I was going to die either. It wasn't the best time in the world, I was well over an hour, but I felt more focussed for having done it. I lay back on the couch and basked in my triumph. When I looked at the clock, I jumped up and rushed around to get ready to see Dr. Reynolds. I didn't want to be late on a day when I just didn't feel like crying.

The waiting room was just a little too cold, but I wasn't sitting on the cool leather chair for long before Dr. Reynolds ushered me in to the office. She narrowed her eyes and stared at me for a long while.

"Something is different, Lex." It was a question.

"I woke up this morning and realized I haven't cried in three days. I've slept five hours every night since last time I saw you. I ran ten kilometres today. I laughed today." I couldn't fight the smile that spread across my face. Even if I'd wanted to.

"That's wonderful," she offered.

"I made a decision after our last session that I couldn't let the fear control me anymore. I've been pushing more."

"Have you come to any decisions?"

"I need to work. I just don't know how I can go back to med school. The thought of the stress makes me feel ill," I admitted.

"I made some phone calls this week. And I think I've come up with a challenge. You've been continuing to study for your boards, right?" Dr. Reynolds began.

"I'm not ready for that!" I exclaimed. She placed a hand on mine.

"No, but you have been studying. Because you were almost finished your residency when this happened. So I spoke to some people. I've arranged for you to challenge the N-CLEX," she announced.

"The nurse exam?" I was puzzled.

"SHIELD has invested a great deal in your education. If you write the N-CLEX and pass, you will be eligible to work as a registered nurse. That will allow you to keep the practical side of your education, and you can continue to study for your boards. Which will allow you do eventually go back to med school and finish. But in the meantime, you will be able to work." Her plan was actually sound. Except for the stress management part.

"Nursing is a much more stressful career," I argued. I'd seen what the nurses I worked with went through.

"That is where my challenge to you comes into play. Write the N-CLEX, work as a nurse, learn to manage the caseload of a nurse, while handing final responsibility over to the SHIELD doctor in charge of your unit. When you are managing, we'll revisit med school."

"I don't know," I was hesitant to commit to anything. I'd had one good week, but that didn't mean I was better.

"If you don't pass, or you don't manage as a nurse, there is no harm done. It doesn't ultimately affect anything to do with your medical degree. But it gives you an opportunity to finish healing yourself while helping others, making a wage, and putting your contracted time in at SHIELD. So it's a win-win, as far as I can see," Dr. Reynolds was a persuasive woman.

"When do I write this exam?" I asked.

"I'm glad you asked. I have an invigilator setting up in the other room right now."

XXX

I deserved a beer after my day. I stopped at the bodega on my way home. I grabbed some bananas and a half-sack of beer. Despite the shock of having the exam sprung on me, I felt like I'd accomplished something huge, and I don't know if you could have pried the smile off my face with a crowbar.

"Looking good today, Lexa." I don't know that Ernesto ever slept. Every time I popped into the store, he was there, morning, noon, night. He was the only person I let get away with calling me anything other than Lex. He's explained he thought I was too pretty for such a masculine name when I first moved into the neighbourhood, and I was so flattered that I allowed it. There weren't a lot of people that told me I was pretty. Even if they were corner store grandpas.

"Thanks Ernesto. I feel good. Things are better."

"You finally feeling over that bad business from work?" He rang up my things.

"I might be rounding a corner, yeah," I admitted as I handed over the cash to pay. He took my hand in both of his and squeezed.

"You deserve good, Lexa. You need a break. And maybe a nice strong man who can keep up with you when you go running."

"Well, if you meet anyone who fits the bill, send them my way. It's hard to meet guys here!" I laughed. Ernesto had been telling me for ages that I needed a man. I _needed_ a man about a much as a fish needed a bicycle, but having one around would be a nice luxury. I had a couple of tall shelves in my apartment, and a man would be more fun than a step stool.

XXX

My phone rang early. Too early to be civilized, so I knew it had to be someone from SHIELD. I grabbed it off my night table. Sure enough, the call display identified SHIELD. I answered half-heartedly. Ignoring your employer while you were on stress leave was frowned upon.

"Richmond here."

"Good morning. Director Fury would like to see you this afternoon. Please be at the SHIELD hangar for transfer to the helicarrier at ten hundred hours." It sounded like Agent Hill, but I couldn't be sure.

"Do I need to pack a bag?" I asked.

"Not at this point," she responded. I sighed and sat up.

"Okay. I'll be there. Thanks." I figured I should probably tidy my apartment and pack my duffel just in case. In my experience, when you got a helicarrier summons, you didn't often leave for a few months. I wrote a short note and left it on the counter, in case it was a SHIELD moving team that was going to come back instead of me. I pocketed my anti-anxiety medication, grabbed my purse and headed out to catch a cab.

It didn't matter how many times I'd been on the helicarrier, I was always taken unaware with the size of it on approach. It was just so big. Knowing the inside was a riddle of mazes and passages didn't make it any easier to process. It was probably good it had amazing cloaking technology because if people saw it overhead, they would freak out.

I was escorted to the bridge. Director Fury was overseeing something and I waited until the agent who'd walked me in had notified Agent Hill of my arrival. She nodded at me and tilted her head toward a chair at the conference table. I took the seat and tried not to relax too much. She spoke quietly to Fury and then made her way to me, sitting in the chair beside me.

"How have you been, Richmond?" She asked. There wasn't really anything subtle about Maria Hill. It was something I respected greatly about her. She didn't dance around touchy subjects.

"Things are looking up," I admitted with a smile. I wasn't sure how familiar she'd made herself with my personnel file, so I didn't want to open up too much.

"I understand you've had some pretty powerful panic attacks." She'd obviously been through my file fairly thoroughly. I relaxed a little. It would be easier to have the discussion with her if I didn't have to hedge my answers.

"They've been quite awful. It makes you feel weak. Worthless."

"I understand completely. I think most of us have been there in some capacity. SHIELD is not for the faint of heart," she smiled, and there was real compassion in her eyes. "Human physiology has evolved for thousands of years to ensure preservation of life in traumatic situations. Sometimes our brains freak out in order to cope with what we've experienced. But that's not weakness, Lex. That's evolution ensuring our survival. That's your brain saying 'that was a really fucking close call, let's not do that again'. You have worth. You've made it through the darkest part of the night and you are all in one piece."

I had been so busy thinking about how I was failing at life that I hadn't thought about it the way she explained. It gave me hope.

"Thanks, Agent Hill."

"Richmond. Follow me." Fury interrupted our bonding. I jumped up to follow him. He turned down a hallway that I knew led to the infirmary, and I fell in beside him, quickening my stride to keep up with his longer legs. "I'm sure you've guessed, you passed the N-CLEX. So I am assigning you to the infirmary here in order to keep an eye on you for the time being. This is a short-term assignment, and I fully expect you to return to complete your residency as soon as you are cleared to do so."

"Yes sir."

"We'll jump you off the carrier to go home and pack. I expect you back tomorrow at –" he stopped speaking and narrowed his eyes, obviously getting some information in his earpiece. "Affirmative, reset course for quickest route." He turned back to me.

"Scratch that. Check in with the quartermaster for assignment to quarters, and then head to distribution to collect scrubs and any toiletries and other needs you may have. We'll send a moving team to your apartment and get your belongings stored. Submit a list of needs through the maintenance portal and the moving team will pack those items for transport to the helicarrier. Report to the infirmary as soon as possible to check in with Dr. Streiten." He headed back toward the bridge. "Welcome back, Richmond."

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

"My god, this guy is still alive!" I overheard the words from the other side of the infirmary and my head popped up. Science had brought in a frozen corpse, and from the excitement surrounding the body, he was someone important. But now they thought he was alive?

"Lex, Derek! Get over here!" Dr. Streiten called. I grabbed a pair of scissors and an armful of saline solution and threw them on the crash cart as I ran to the other side of the unit. Derek grabbed an IV pole and rapid infuser. Jane, the other nurse at the desk, started toward the blanket warmer. Streiten was barking orders at the scientists that were surrounding the body, and they were frantically chipping away at the ice around the guy's legs. I stumbled to a stop in front of the gurney and gasped.

It was Captain Motherfucking America. I mean, I assumed it was Captain America. The guy was in a Captain America costume, and I'd overheard enough when they'd brought the body in to know he was pulled from a world war two era plane in northern Russia. I looked at Dr. Streiten for orders.

"Derek, start bagging him. He's got a weak pulse and his resps are very low, so we're going to need to give him an assist. Lex, set up oxygen. It's going to need to be warmed and humidified, but I want to bring it up to temp slowly. This soldier has been in the ice for 70 years, I don't want to risk killing him now." Dr. Streiten grabbed the warm blankets from Jane and draped them across the thin layer of ice on the top of Captain America's legs.

"We need to roll him off this block he's laying on," one of the science guys said. I fumbled with the humidification attachment for the oxygen, but managed to snap it into place. I attached the line to the ambubag Derek was using. A few keystrokes later on the wall panel, and I'd set the oxygen to increase in warmth from room temperature to 43 degree Celsius over the course of forty minutes. I moved to help pull him from the ice block. Jane had moved a bed alongside the gurney he'd been on, and I hopped onto the bed to help pull him across, snapping the last fragile trace of ice holding him to the block on the gurney. Dr. Streiten handed me the scissors.

"Stay put while we move him to the trauma bay, and get that uniform off him," he ordered. I started at the wrists and cut the sleeves open, then slid the scissors down the outside of the uniform on either side of his torso, and down the legs, effectively cutting the uniform into two layers, top and bottom. When the brakes were locked, I jumped down and pulled the top layer of the sodden uniform off him. Jane and I deftly rolled him while Derek continued bagging and we got the rest of the uniform out from under him. There was a haze of frost forming on his skin, and he was a horrible blue colour I'd only ever seen on the dead.

"Dr. Streiten, warmed IV fluids?" I asked.

"Yes, get the saline warming, and start running it at 34.5. Bring it up to 43 degrees over the next hour. I don't want to shock him into cardiac arrest. Jane, I need to be set up for peritoneal lavage. Is this a warming bed?" Dr. Streiten was so calm, it kept my galloping heartrate from getting out of control. His voice was soothing. He was clearly an experienced trauma doctor. While Jane set up the bed to warm, I took Captain America's cold arm and started an IV on him. As the needle pushed through the cold skin, I realized this was my first trauma case as an RN. And I was working on Captain America. I could feel the pressure starting on my chest as I hurried around to the other side to start a second IV. I closed my eyes as I palpated the vein and took a deep breath. I just needed to get that second warmed fluid bag started, and I could take a moment to gather myself together, or melt down, whichever was coming. As the needle popped into the vein, I saw his fingers move and I almost lost the IV, I was so startled. There was no way he was reviving so quickly. I taped the line down and stepped back.

"Further orders, Doctor?" I questioned. Dr. Streiten looked at what we'd accomplished in less than five minutes. Captain America was in a warming bed, with warmed oxygen and fluid running. He was dry and the blue was becoming less 'dead guy' and more 'cold guy'. The frost that had come to the surface when we'd pulled off his uniform was melting. Derek was still bagging him, and his chest rose and fell as Derek worked.

"I think we need to intubate. Jane, please go ensure the fluid warmer is well stocked and bring it over here to the bedside," Dr. Streiten asked. He looked at me, and took a step away from the bedside, leading me with him by the arm.

"How are you managing, Lex? Your colour is off, and your breathing is rapid and shallow. Do you need to take a break? Should I relieve you so you can return to quarters and take an Ativan?" Dr. Streiten had made it clear the first five minutes in the infirmary that he knew my entire history. He had been quite empathetic to the situation, but it made me feel uncomfortable, knowing that my 'boss' knew I was broken. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment. I let it out slowly. The weight on my chest began to recede. I took another deep breath. When I no longer felt like I was going to descend into panic, I looked Dr. Streiten in the eye.

"I will be fine, sir. Just keep me busy," I replied. He nodded.

"Are you trained for closed peritoneal lavage?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I want you to intubate and then manage that intervention while I talk to Director Fury." He looked over my shoulder to the infirmary doors. I turned my head and saw Fury walking in. I nodded at Dr. Streiten, and headed back over to Captain America. I quickly intubated him, and relieved Derek from bagging. We connected him to the ventilator. Derek brought me all the supplies I needed for the lavage. I'd needed to do peritoneal lavage during my trauma rotation, and it was one of those interventions I'd found oddly soothing. A closed lavage involved sticking the patient with a needle and then infusing a bag of fluid into their peritoneal cavity. Really swank trauma units had an infuser that controlled the rate of infusion, but I wasn't about to waste time looking for one. I took the sterile lavage tray and set up, Derek watching me closely the whole time. I was the untested RN, after all, and I'm not sure he knew about my previous experience.

"Have you done this before? It's not something I've done in the ten years I've been nursing," he asked, just as I was about to stick the needle into Captain America's belly.

"I have. Long story, but up until recently I was in med school." I slid the needle into Captain America and anchored it before connecting the warmed solution. I allowed the bag to drain into his abdomen and let it rest before placing the bag lower than the bed to gravity feed the peritoneal fluid back out of his body. Dr. Streiten returned after speaking with Director Fury and assessed my work.

"How's his core temperature?"

"Up to 34 degrees Celsius, sir." I glanced at the monitor before changing the lavage bag.

"One more should be fine, then we'll just continue with warming by IV and external warming measures. His other vital signs seem to have stabilized, but continue monitoring him. Call me if there is any change." He was scribbling in the chart as he spoke. I looked down at Captain America and realized I had no idea if the good captain had a real name.

"Dr. Streiten? Does Captain America have a real name? It feels weird to call him that." It was awkward. And when it came time to chart, I would need to know his real name.

"His historical chart says Steven Rogers. I believe he goes by Steve," Dr. Streiten flipped to the front of the chart. "Yes, here it is. Steve."

I nodded and turned back to Steve Rogers, Captain America. I could hear the movie narration guy in my head every time I thought 'Captain America', so being able to put a name to him would probably be helpful. I pulled a tray-table over to the bedside and flopped in a chair beside him to chart on the procedure while I monitored him.

XXX

I must have fallen asleep sometime after discontinuing the lavage, but a groan from the bed pulled me from my nap. I shot to my feet and stumbled to the bedside. Captain Rogers was moving in the bed. His vital signs, including his temperature were all well within the normal range. Without even opening his eyes, he reached for the vent and tried to pull it out. I grabbed his hand and pulled it away. His eyes still didn't open, but he struggled a little more. He was ridiculously strong, considering he had been frozen in a block of ice for nearly seventy years, and I was using all my strength to hold his one arm down. I needed to settle him before he realized he had two arms.

"Captain Rogers, shh. You are safe. I'm going to call the doctor, and we'll get orders to discontinue the tube in your throat, but you're going to have to settle, or I'll have to sedate you." I spoke quickly and softly, close to his ear, using my most soothing voice. His arm relaxed and I was able to loosen my hold. When I let go, his hand reached for mine. I allowed him to wrap his hand around mine as I turned away from the bed.

"Dr. Streiten, he's rousing. Can I remove the vent?"

"Yes, but give midazolam as well. We need to transport him off the helicarrier and to the New York HQ, and Director Fury would prefer he not wake for that." He'd been on and off the phone most of the day, arranging what I could only assume was this exact transport.

"Yes sir," I acknowledged. I leaned back near Captain Rogers' ear. "Captain, I need to let go of your hand to take the tube out of your throat. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep some more." More importantly, he wouldn't remember this part of his recovery, which was probably for the best. His grip on my hand loosened, and I made quick of extubating him. I gave the med by his IV, and returned to his side.

"You should drop right back to sleep, Captain. Everything is going to be just fine," I reassured him. His hand found mind again and prized it off the side rail so he could wrap his large fingers around mine. I felt a catch in my chest at the gesture. In sleep, he needed the reassurance of someone else's presence. I probably would to, after seventy years alone. I was startled from my thoughts by another groans from him. It sounded like he was saying something. I leaned a little closer, and he stiffened when he felt my hair brush against his cheek.

"Peggy." His voice was a soundless whisper, but his hand squeezed mine again. His heartrate sped up, and his blood pressure spiked high.

"Shhh, Steve. Everything will be fine. I'm here." I felt like a jackass for lying to him, but I didn't want to have spent all that time working on the resuscitation just to have him get so agitated that he arrested. I laid my hand on his face and murmured softly to him. His heart rate slowed back down, and his blood pressure returned to normal.

"You have good nursing instincts, Lex. You may wind up being very good at this," Dr. Streiten smiled at me. I flushed, and pulled my hand away from Captain Rogers' face. "Don't fret, Lex. You've done exactly the right thing. Like I said. Good instincts."

"Thank you, sir."

"Prepare him for transport. The team will be here for him in a moment," he ordered.

"Is one of us going with him?" I asked.

"I'll be accompanying Captain Rogers to recovery," Agent Coulson announced as he walked through the infirmary doors. I carefully slid my hand out from Captain Rogers', but he reached out for me again, and once he got my hand, he wasn't letting go. I looked helplessly at Dr. Streiten for direction.

"It looks like my new nurse will be accompanying you, Agent Coulson.


	3. Chapter 3

I walked alongside the gurney, holding Captain Rogers' hand. A security officer pushed the gurney, and Agent Coulson led us toward the aircraft deck. We were assisted onto a Quinjet and the gurney was secured. Throughout the walk to the deck and pre-flight checks, I tried to slip my hand from the captain's, but every time I wriggled my fingers free, he would become agitated again and his heartrate would spike and his blood pressure would start to creep up. I resigned myself to holding his hand for the duration.

The flight was uneventful. Agent Coulson couldn't take his eyes off the captain.

"You're a Captain America fan then, Agent Coulson?" I asked. He glanced up at me and a flush crept up his neck.

"Cap is everything a good man should be. It was such a huge loss. Before I was born, obviously. I wasn't sure I actually believed he existed. And there he is," he rambled. He was a total fanboy. It was really cute in a kind of dorky comic book guy way.

"He's really pretty too," I commented. Coulson raised an eyebrow at me in question. "What? Because I'm a nurse I can't admire a nice looking guy? Look at his fucking shoulders!"

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Nurse Richmond?" Coulson asked me. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I'm an orphan, actually. Didn't have anyone to teach me not to swear," I snapped. Coulson flinched.

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me." He looked genuinely sorry and his posture instantly became rigid and stiff.

"Well, I was 16, so maybe I should have learned by then," I softened my tone in apology. Coulson smirked.

"Every nurse I've ever met has a love for the invective, Richmond." His comment was a peace offering. He seemed like a decent guy, mancrush on Captain Rogers notwithstanding. We lapsed into silence and I noticed Captain Rogers grip on my fingers had loosened again. I slipped my hand from under his and kept a close watch on the monitor to ensure his vitals didn't change. His heartrate jumped again, but the blood pressure stayed consistent.

"I'm right beside you, Steve. I just need my hand for a few minutes to write this report." I tried using familiar language. He wouldn't be expecting anyone to say anything about charting and nurse's notes, but he would understand the need for reporting. If he was actually understanding anything at all. I knew Dr. Streiten was concerned about the risk of brain damage. His hand moved closer to the edge of the gurney, but his vitals remained stable, with the exception of the elevated heartrate.

"Coulson, tell me about this guy. Wasn't there a cartoon in the seventies? I didn't realize he was real."

"You aren't old enough to remember the seventies," Coulson started, "but yeah, there was a cartoon. In the sixties. It was a cartoon though. It wasn't really about this guy."

Coulson launched into a long-winded narrative about the history of Project:Rebirth, and how Captain Rogers had been short and skinny and sickly until he was chosen as the successful candidate for the project that made him the buff piece of manflesh that was laying on the gurney. He explained how the captain and his team fought against Nazi Germany and the science division of the Nazis. It was incredible, and probably a lot of it was above my security clearance. I looked back at the captain, still as death, except for the rising and lowering of his chest.

"Good bones then," I murmured.

"What was that?" Coulson asked.

"I said good bones then," I spoke up. "I mean, Captain Rogers sounds like he was a good man, even before the super serum. He was brave, and intelligent. Had integrity. Those aren't things you can manufacture in a lab. And handsome. He was handsome before the serum too; he wouldn't have just magically become handsome. The serum just made him the whole package. I wonder if he has any weaknesses."

"Pathological shyness," Coulson supplied.

"What?"

"When Captain Rogers was chosen for Project: Rebirth, he told Agent Carter that he was too shy and uncomfortable around women to want to date. After the serum, he was part of a touring musical cavalcade to sell war bonds, but somehow never wound up married, despite being surrounded by young single ladies. My guess is that he didn't lose the awkwardness around women." Coulson had clearly thought long and hard about it. If his only failing was being shy, the guy was truly amazing. I glanced back at the monitor and saw that his blood pressure was creeping up and he had become restless. I stood and ran my hand across his forehead, amazed at how quickly he stilled.

"So how did he die? I mean, how did he wind up in a block of ice in Russia, assumed missing in action?" I asked.

"He was fighting HYDRA and was able to overtake Johann Schmidt, but he couldn't reroute the plane they were on, and it was en route to drop bombs on America. He chose to put the plane down in the Arctic Ocean," Coulson explained. It sounded like he was leaving a lot out.

"Jesus," I breathed.

I slipped my hand under his again as we were transported to the medical facility. Director Fury met us there and led us into a large room with false walls and fake windows. It was set up like a nursing ward in an old textbook. I glanced around at the setting and grimaced.

"What the fu-uh, what exactly is this supposed to be?" I asked no one in particular.

"We think Captain Rogers will need some assistance with reintegration. We want to ease the shock of the changes to the world around him by allowing him to wake up in a familiar environment," one of the medical personnel scurrying around explained.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I blurted. It was not the right thing to say. Everyone stopped moving around the room and stared at me.

"I don't recall you being an expert in reintegration, Richmond," Fury commented. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Director, but is anyone? Does this happen often? Is there a special 'reintegrate super soldiers who've been frozen in ice for seventy years' division of SHIELD that none of us are aware of? This man's last thought was likely that he was making the ultimate sacrifice to save his country. How is he going to feel when he wakes up and puts two and two together? He's going to assume the bad guys won the war and that you all are untrustworthy fucks who he needs to get away from!" I was trying to keep my voice calm and steady, but it wasn't easy.

"Your opinion has been noted." Fury was completely calm. That was impressive, considering my rant was barely short of insubordination. I helped slide the captain from the gurney into the antique hospital bed, and hung his IV bag on the equally old pole that was beside the bed before sliding a chair beside the bed and pulling his chart from under the gurney mattress. I flipped it open and charted about the transport, including my opinion about the reintegration plans. I removed the monitor leads from his chest and looked around for assessment equipment so that I could chart a transport assessment as well.

"With all due respect, ma'am, nurses didn't take vital signs in the forties," a young doctor took the stethoscope from my hands and proceeded to assess the captain himself. I shot Director Fury a withering glare.

"I'm clearly not wanted here. Shall I head back to the helicarrier then, Director?" I stood directly in front of him, jaw set. I was furious.

"His blood pressure has spiked dangerously high!" The doctor exclaimed. I glanced back and could see that Captain Rogers had become restless again. I let them struggle to stabilize him for a few minutes but they were not having any success. I sighed and turned.

"Someone needs to hold his hand," I ordered. The doctor looked at me like I was insane but nodded to the nurse assisting him to do it. Captain Rogers didn't settle. I rolled my eyes, shot another filthy look in Fury's direction and stomped back to the bedside. I smoothed my hand across the captain's brow and took his hand in mine. It took a few minutes but he settled again, his blood pressure dropping back to normal.

"Clearly, you are wanted here, Richmond. We'll talk about your role here later. In the meantime, I want the captain stabilized and then left to sleep. Get Richmond a more comfortable chair, I don't want her climbing in with him because she's uncomfortable." Fury barked out the orders to the personnel still working on the room.


	4. Chapter 4

There was more activity in the fake hospital room of stupidity than there should have been and it was beginning to piss me off. It was bad enough that I'd had some old-timey nurse's uniform forced on me, but the constant scene changes at the fake windows to transition from day to night were ridiculous. And the sterile, filtered air of the building was not going to convince this sleeping man that he was laying in a room with windows open to 1940s New York City. But it didn't seem to matter how often I said anything, no one was listening to me.

Okay, that's not completely true. Agent Coulson was listening to me, and he was also protesting the idiocy of the whole scenario. He was just much more adept at doing do. He knew the right words to use, and how to use them in order to effect change. It didn't take him long to convince Director Fury to keep the windows staged to daytime at all hours, to cut down on the noise and confusion around the room.

I was reading _A Tree Grows In Brooklyn_, sitting at the captain's bedside, monitoring him. I'd laid down the law with Director Fury about being able to do assessments. After the second time the young doctor had come in and scolded me about taking the captain's vital signs, I'd lost my temper. When I'd agreed to work as a nurse, I'd made sure I understood my scope of practice, and vital signs were a basic, easy skill. I didn't care if nurses weren't taking them regularly during the 1940s; I was going to continue taking them on Captain Rogers. Fury had backed me up, although I suspected Coulson had done a lot of arguing on my behalf. Now the doc only came in once a day, and I was responsible for Captain Rogers for the rest of the day.

I had a small cot set up near the door to the room, so it could easily be removed when I felt he was nearing waking. While I disagreed with the plan that had been put in place to manage Captain Rogers once he wakened, there were only so many battles that I was going to win through sheer stubborn bitchiness, and this one was apparently not one of them.

A worker came in with a radio, and set it up on the dresser. He turned it on and fiddled with the back a bit. A swell of big band music surged out of it. I cocked an eyebrow at him, awaiting an explanation.

"The psychologist thinks this might help to rouse him. It's going to play music, the occasional baseball game, world news from 1945." He turned and left once he was satisfied that the sound was accurate. I rolled my eyes and took a sip of water. Coulson came in a few minutes later.

"Need a break, Richmond?" He'd been coming in and giving me half hour breaks every day since the captain had been set up in the room and I'd been ordered to stay. It gave me a chance to take a shower, go to the bathroom, stretch my legs. Sometimes he stayed for an hour or two so I go could take a run. A couple times he'd stayed long enough that I could have a good nap. I wasn't used to sleeping under surveillance and the cot in the captain's room was just as monitored as the rest of the room. And I couldn't allow myself to sleep deeply either, just because I didn't want the captain to wake while I was out cold. I rose and marked the page of my book and laid it on the bedside table. If Coulson had been paying close attention, he would have seen that I was using an invitation for a new years party I'd been to as my bookmark, with the year clearly showing over the edge of my pages. I was trying to do little things to subvert SHIELD's plan to dupe Captain Rogers into thinking he was still in the forties. So far my bookmark was the only thing that had passed through the surveillance unnoticed. That and my hair and make-up were completely wrong. Given the captain's history though, I wasn't sure that he'd notice that part.

Coulson took the seat I vacated and opened his own book, an Agatha Christie mystery. I sighed and made my way out into the building. I grabbed my kit bag from the locker at the doors to the lockdown unit we were keeping the captain on, and headed to the shower. It didn't take long to get showered and grab a burger from the commissary. Coulson was waiting outside the room when I got back, looking apologetic. I stopped in front of him.

"What's going on?"

"I'm sorry. I finished my book and thought I'd read a couple pages of yours. Your bookmark fell out and the camera picked it up before I could grab it. How could you have been so careless?" He asked. I'd suspected Coulson wasn't fully on board with the deception thing either, and what he didn't say confirmed it. He hadn't turned me in over the bookmark. He just hadn't caught it in time.

"I guess I wasn't thinking," I shrugged. Coulson leveled a look on me that told me he knew I was full of shit.

"Fury is waiting to talk to you inside. Try not to agitate the captain," he suggested. I laughed.

"Coulson, I know what I'm doing." I turned and headed into the room to face the music. Fury was sitting in my chair, flipping through my book. He rose when he heard the door click and held his hand up to stop me from walking further into the room.

"Care to explain this?" He held up my bookmark. I flinched.

"I wasn't thinking."

"I somehow doubt that's the case. As much as I've been pleased with how you've been handling Captain Rogers, I'm ordering you back to the helicarrier infirmary. I can't risk you ruining what is a very delicate operation," Fury explained. I snorted in disgust. So ladylike.

"Oh please. It wouldn't be delicate at all if you weren't practicing deception. Captain Rogers deserves to know, from the fucking moment he wakes up, that something horrible has happened. He had a life before this. He is a human being, not a machine. You can't just tune him up to the 21st century and set him loose. He's going to need time to grieve his losses. And deceiving him into believing it's 1945? That's not going to fucking help!" I kept my voice to a stage whisper, but I stamped my foot in some bizarre expression of indelicate old-timey nurse rage. Fury cocked his good eyebrow at me and leaned back on his heels.

"You are treading a very fine line between concern for your patient and insubordination, Richmond," he warned. I blinked slowly and set my jaw.

"Then fucking fire me. I don't care. What you are doing to this man is medically unethical and morally wrong." I snatched my book out of his hand and spun on my uncomfortable white duty heel. His hand landed on my shoulder and turned me back around before I could leave.

"I'm not going to fire you. I'm not even going to put you on a well-deserved administrative leave. What I am going to do is send you back to the helicarrier. Go pack up your locker. You can jump a quinjet tomorrow morning."

I slammed the door to the room so hard the walls wobbled. Coulson escorted me to my locker and waited while I packed my kit bag up. He'd obviously been ordered to stay with me. He said nothing until we were waiting at the elevator.

"Look, you can stay at the barracks on the 29th floor tonight, or you can crash at my place," he offered. My head snapped over in surprise.

"I'm sorry?"

"The barracks aren't very private," he started. I gave him a confused look. "Just because technically I've been watching Captain Rogers doesn't mean I don't notice how disturbed your sleep is when I'm relieving you. You're not going to get a good night's rest in the barracks."

"I don't understand."

"I have a pull-out couch in my living room. I'm going to be on duty for part of the night. You're welcome to crash at my place so you can be alone. Maybe get a decent night's sleep before heading back to the helicarrier." His words had been carefully chosen and he spoke slowly, not because he was being rude, but because he'd picked up that I was exhausted and emotional. And in those few words, he made it clear he wasn't hitting on me, he was just being a decent person.

"I don't know what to say, Coulson," I blurted. "I mean, thank you. I would really appreciate that."

"Sure. Let's pick up a pizza on the way."

XXX

Coulson turned out to be one of the coolest guys I'd met at SHIELD so far. He loosened off his tie as soon as we were through the door, and handed me a beer less than a minute later. We sat in the living room, drinking beer, eating pizza and laughing at his stories like we'd been friends for years, not just acquaintances over the past week. There weren't any photos of family anywhere, except a single photo of a beautiful woman holding a cello.

"Is this Mrs. Coulson?" I asked, pointing at the photo. Coulson wiped his face with a napkin and shook his head.

"There is not a Mrs. Coulson. That is Audrey. She plays for the Portland Philharmonic," he offered.

"She's very beautiful," I offered.

"I'm a lucky man." I got the impression the conversation was over.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, Richmond." He stood and grabbed me another beer.

"You've put a roof over my head, fed me pizza and are now plying me with beer. And good beer too. It's okay if you call me Lex, Coulson." I took a final slice of pizza and leaned back on the couch.

"Then call me Phil," he asked. He stood up and cleared our mess away and flipped up the top of the coffee table to reveal a couple of pillows and a pile of blankets. "I've got to get back to the office. Let me pull out the bed and get you set up."

"Is it a normal pull-out, or is there some sort of secret magic to it?" I asked.

"It's normal. Why?"

"Then go. I can manage," I declined his assistance. "I've got it, I promise. You've done enough for me already tonight."

He looked doubtful, but he grabbed his keys and locked up on his way out. I washed my hands when I was finished my pizza, and pulled a pillow and blanket out from the storage box. I curled up on the couch without pulling it out and fell asleep.

My phone jarred me awake. I felt like I'd only been asleep for a few minutes, but it was dark in Coulson's apartment. I groped on the table for my phone and answered the call.

"Richmond speaking."

"It's Coulson. Captain Rogers is awake." He sounded a little panicked.

"That's awesome, Phil!" I tried to sound excited for him.

"Fury wants you back here. You were right," he offered.

"About?" I wasn't awake enough to process what Coulson was saying.

"He freaked out when he woke up. Because a baseball game he had been at was playing on the radio." That jolted me awake. I sat up, cussing a blue streak.

"Seriously? Who was the head of research on that fuck up? What exactly does Fury think I can do to help?" I rubbed my eyes.

"The doctor seems to think you'll be able to settle him. He said his vitals are holding steady, but his BP is elevated and his heart rate is through the roof, and the only person that has successfully been able to stabilize those into the normal range has been you." Coulson sounded like he was reading off a notepad.

"Has anyone else sat down with him and held his fucking hand? Nevermind. Yeah. I'm on my way," I pulled my shoes on. "Where are your spare keys so I can lock up?"

"Drawer beside the fridge." I grabbed the keys and my kit bag and headed out the door. I combed my hair back into a neat ponytail while I was on the subway. I was grateful I wasn't going to have to put that horrible white dress uniform back on, but I felt a little sloppy in my yoga pants and SHIELD t-shirt. Poor Captain America was going to have a fit about how little clothing women wore in the modern era. And I was going to be his first real exposure, from the sounds of things.

I stepped off the elevator and headed toward the lockdown unit. Coulson was waiting for me outside.

"We've moved him to a debriefing room. Fury and the doctor are with him," he swung open the door and if it was possible, there was a look of hopeful relief on Director Fury's face. I didn't think it was possible though. I glanced at Coulson before walking in. He was apparently not joining me.

"Lex, this is Captain Steve Rogers. Captain Rogers, this is Alexandra Richmond. She's a SHIELD nurse, and has been monitoring you while you recovered," the doctor introduced us. I was wondering how he knew my name. I certainly hadn't bothered learning his. Captain Rogers stood and offered his hand.

"Ma'am." He was so respectful. I could feel myself blushing.

"Please. Lex is fine,"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm not comfortable being quite so familiar," he offered.

"Alrighty then." I turned to face the doctor. "Can I see the chart? Coulson sort of filled me in." I took the chart and flipped open the vitals monitoring sheet. His blood pressure had been dangerously high since waking, and his heart rate was through the roof. I gestured back to his chair.

"Captain, if you could please take a seat. I'm going to check your blood pressure, and your heart rate. Yours are high and we need them to come down. While you were asleep, after we'd recovered and resuscitated you, you settled for me quite well. I've been called in to see if that will work again." I felt full disclosure was to my benefit. I didn't want him to suddenly distrust me.

"You resuscitated me?" He gawked at me, just a little.

"Not on my own. There was a team of us." I put the cuff around his arm, and grabbed my stethoscope. "Just relax your arm for me, Captain."

"You can still call me Steve," he offered. I looked up, furrowing my brow. "I recognize your voice. You called me Steve while I was sleeping." It was almost an accusation.

"I'm sorry, captain. I'm not comfortable being quite so familiar," I shot his own words back at him with a smirk. He smiled and nodded. His blood pressure was still high, but in the high part of normal, instead of just high. "I'm going to need you to remove your shirt, Captain." I requested. He pulled off his shirt and I sucked in my breath quietly. He was sculpted like a Greek god, and while I'd seen him without the shirt when we were resuscitating him, it was different now that he was upright, and alert, and living again. I placed the stethoscope on his chest and listened to his heart, watching the second hand tick on my watch. His heart rate was also regulating back to normal. I looked at the record sheet again as I wrote them down, and then looked back to the doctor.

"His BP and pulse were coming down on their own before I was called. I don't understand what the rush was?" I questioned. The doctor wouldn't meet my eye. I shot Fury a glance, and he looked over at the doctor was well.

"What is the meaning of this? You said he was in danger of having a stroke if we didn't settle him. But he was settling on his own?" I enjoyed Fury's anger when it wasn't directed at me. It was a righteous rage.

"I knew Lex could settle him faster," the doctor blurted out. "She's been settling him all week. Her voice calms him right down, and I knew that, coupled with her pretty face," he trailed off. We all waited for him to finish his thought. "Well, she's pretty. That can be very calming to men too."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I threw up my hands in resignation. Pretty sure with the language that was coming out of me, Captain Rogers wasn't going to be finding my voice soothing any longer. "If it's alright with you, Director, I'll complete a full assessment. I'll chart everything before I catch the quinjet this morning." I wanted it clear that I wasn't going to stay working with this doctor who wanted to use my sex appeal to nurse Captain fucking America back to health. Fury nodded.

"Clear out, let the woman work." He waited for the assorted people that were hanging around to leave before heading to the door himself. "I trust you to get this done properly, Richmond."

"Yes sir." I made eye contact with Captain Rogers and smiled. I was a little nervous. The truth was, my skills were beyond that of a nurse, but one of the things that Fury had insisted on when I'd passed the exam was that I would stay working within a nurse's scope. This assessment was not out of it by any stretch, but it was going to feel awkward to the captain, I was pretty sure. Because the difference between a nurse in the 1940s and now was extreme.

"Before we start, do you have any questions for me?" I asked. Captain Rogers looked thoughtful and sighed.

"It'd be nice to know who won the last World Series," he looked hopeful.

"I hate to disappoint you, Captain, but I don't follow baseball. Chicago won the Stanley Cup though," I was probably too apologetic. He smiled.

"We still play ball and hockey though?" He asked.

"We sure do." I checked his blood pressure again. Just as I suspected it was right back down to normal. I proceeded through the other vital signs again and was reassured that my initial assessment had been right. I sighed again, frustrated by the doctor's apparent lack of competence. If he'd been supporting the deception, it's no wonder it failed so spectacularly.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"For what?" I asked.

"You seem bothered to be here," he started.

"Oh, god, no, St-Captain! I'm frustrated. I argued against the stupid fake room, and the deception. I didn't think it was right. And when everything was said and done, there was a huge risk to your well being by deceiving you. I'm frustrated I wasn't listened to." I'd stumbled and almost called him Steve.

"Oh. Well, thank you, ma'am." We settled into the assessment, and small talk ended.


	5. Chapter 5

"He checks out just fine, Director." I handed the file folder over to Fury, and stepped back, awaiting further orders. I could play the good military girl if I needed to. He flipped through my charting and nodded.

"Is there anything in your assessment that would indicate a concern for his ongoing health?" Fury asked.

"Nothing. He's got the body of a 25-year-old. His bloodwork was all in order, he checks out fine. As far as I can tell, the blood pressure issue is a response to the resuscitation. My only concern is that he hits all the major indicators for post-traumatic stress. They didn't call it that when he was a soldier, of course, but you should probably talk to him about it." I was more concerned than I let on about it, but I had decided that I was over-reacting, due to my own whopping huge case of PTSD. I thought about the line of medication bottles along the back of my bathroom sink, and shuddered to think of that outcome for Steve. He was too pretty, and too good to be so broken.

"You have PTSD yourself, Richmond, is that correct?" Fury asked. I nodded. "Can you manage a conversation with the captain about it?"

"I wouldn't be comfortable with that, sir." I was being honest. I could barely speak about my experiences with the therapist. I couldn't imagine having to talk about them with Captain motherfucking America.

"Not about your own experiences, Richmond," Fury elaborated, reading my mind. "About what it is, what to look for, how it affects people. You're very nearly a doctor. Put your beside manner on and visit with the captain one last time."

"And after that, I'm reassigned to the helicarrier?" I clarified.

"Yes," Fury nodded.

"Fine. I want your assurance that I will never be brought into another situation where I'll be expected to be so grossly deceptive of one of the good guys, sir," I bartered.

"I can't make that promise, Richmond." Fury's tone was final, and I knew I'd pushed just a little too far. I wasn't exactly cut out for military or paramilitary life. I didn't take orders well, and I did a little too much independent thinking.

"I'll see the captain this afternoon, and hop a quinjet to the helicarrier tonight, sir." I exited his office and made my way back to the medical wing. I found Steve packing up his things. Someone had very thoughtfully brought him some clothing while he slept. Part of the ploy, I guess. It was all quite retro.

"Hi Cap. Director Fury asked me to go over some stuff with you," I opened. Steve looked up and smiled.

"No rest for the wicked?" He teased.

"Something like that. Did any of your team ever suffer from shell-shock?" I asked, figuring it was better to just jump right in. Steve stopped packing and sat on the edge of his bed.

"I think we all did, to some extent," he responded.

"Because of everything that'd happened to you, you hit all the indicators for shell-shock. I just wanted to run through the resources available to you to help you cope. If you need them," I stammered a little. The man was a superhero. The stuff of legend. And I was suggesting he was broken.

"I don't think I'll need them, but sure," Steve nodded.

"Uh, okay. So, shell-shock –"

"We actually called it combat fatigue in World War II. Shell shock was the first world war," Steve interrupted to gently correct me.

"Even better. So, it's typified as a short-term behavioural disorder in response to the trauma of battle. What has been noted, however, in conflicts since World War II, is that there can be a prolonged state of the disorder, which can cause hyperarousal of the fight or flight response. Hyperresponsiveness in the norepinephrine system on a long-term basis can lead to flashbacks, nightmares and aggression." I began.

"Ma'am, that's a lot of technical talk, and you've got the look to you that you're going to get more technical. I'm a soldier. And before that, I was an artist. I'm no dummy, but plain English would be a lot easier for me to understand." He cut me off. I let out a nervous laugh.

"Sorry. I'm not really good at this. So combat fatigue is considered to be a short-term disorder, but when it is prolonged, it can cause a lot of body systems to over-respond to stimuli – uh, things that are not combat related. And that can cause excessive vigilance when it is not necessary. This leads to nightmares, flashbacks, aggression. It's incredibly hard on the body, and when left untreated in the long-term, can damage the brain." I didn't think that was dumbing it down.

"Okay, yeah. I've seen than in men before. We know what causes it now?" He seemed interested in the chemistry involved.

"Yes and no. The brain is still a mystery, but less so than it was in 1945. There's three different parts of the brain that are involved. And a bunch of hormones."

"So wouldn't rebalancing those hormones fix things?" He asked. I nodded.

"Yeah. There are drugs than can help with the hormonal imbalance. It works better when there is concurrent therapy," I explained.

"What kind of therapy?" He asked. "Like rehabilitation? How does that work when someone is not physically damaged?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of like rehabilitation, but for your head. So you talk with a psychologist about things that make the flashbacks or nightmares worse, and ways you've found to help you cope," I stumbled a little. It was getting a little too close to my own experiences for me to continue being comfortable discussing it.

"And soldiers are no longer assumed to be cowards when this happens?" Steve asked.

"There's too many soldiers that come home broken by war now. Mental health issues are still very much something that society doesn't like to talk about, but considering all the conflicts that happen, and how the brain responds, almost universally to those traumas in war, it's a topic that is getting more discussion. We're not so evolved as to have solved this issue. And stupid people might suggest that it is cowardice. But anyone with half a brain knows there's more to it." My temper flared and settled as I realized he didn't think it was chicken. But he'd come from a time when mental health issues were still seen as weakness.

"You say broken like a soldier is a machine." Steve's tone was critical.

"No. And yes. I guess. It's more a colloquialism of the times. Broken is something that is in need of repair. People can be broken, machines can be broken. It's a different kind of breaking, right? Psychological over mechanical. And at the same time, what is a soldier but a cog in the war machine?" I asked. "Sorry, maybe that's too heavy and philosophical."

"You've seen action." It was a question.

"Yes." I picked at my fingernails.

"I understand. I'll take the reading you brought for me, Richmond. I appreciate you talking to me about this." He held out his hand. I passed over the stack of pamphlets and info pages about PTSD.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Captain Rogers. I hope your recovery continues to be unremarkable," I rose and stepped back, waiting. I realized I didn't need to wait to be dismissed, and turned. He put a hand on my shoulder and turned me back to face him.

"Thanks, Richmond. I know there's more to what you've done than I remember. I hope your new assignment is what you are looking for," he was sincere. He offered his hand, and I shook it. I was at the door when he called out to me again. "I take it out on the heavy bag. You should try it sometime. Catharsis. How's that for a big word?"

I laughed. "It's a great word!" And it completely described how I felt after helping resuscitate and care for Captain Rogers.


End file.
